


you who swallowed a falling star

by steelrunner



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Calcifer!Coran, Curses, F/M, Howl!Allura, Magic, One Shot, Sophie!Keith, Steampunk, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10657380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrunner/pseuds/steelrunner
Summary: Eldest of three or not, setting off to find your fortune is never an easy prospect.





	you who swallowed a falling star

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [some lovely artwork](http://misterpoofofficial.tumblr.com/post/159359145208/alluras-moving-castle) over on Tumblr.

It wasn’t until the morning after that Keith believed that he hadn’t dreamed it all - when he rolled out of bed to find his limbs aching and creaking with more than exertion, the loose hair around his face turned gray. Just hauling himself to the mirror was an effort, and when he reached it all he could do was stare at this stranger’s face that might have belonged to his father, if he had ever lived to reach seventy. 

The sound of knocking made him whip around to face the door. “Keith? Are you still in there?”

“Shiro?” Keith almost clasped a hand over his mouth at the unfamiliar sound of his voice. “Don’t come in, I’ve got a bad cold.”

“Keith - is that you?” Shiro’s incredulous tone was audible even through the door. “You sound awful! Is there anything I can get you?”

“No,” Keith said. “I’m fine. I’ll - I’ll just stay in bed for the rest of the day.”

“Alright,” Shiro replied. In the background, there was the sound of doors opening and chairs scraping - the other apprentices arriving. “Just come and get me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Keith said lamely. He drew the blanket draped over his shoulders closer, listening as Shiro’s footsteps faded away, to be replaced by greetings and laughter, followed by Iverson’s voice as he barked at them to quit chatting and get working. Then he turned to look at his room.

It was more of a closet, really. Barely big enough for a rickety old bed, a tiny dresser, and a pile of half-finished sun hats in the corner. Iverson had told him not to expect any more than that, but Keith had taken what he could get - there weren’t many tradesmen that had been willing to apprentice an untrained orphan, let alone give them room and board. Meeting Shiro had made things better. Keith shuffled back towards the bed, running his hand over the footboard where they had carved their names together long ago.

He’d lived here for five years. Five years of the dullest existence imaginable, and in the space of one whirlwind Midsummer, he’d been chased by shadow creatures, flown with a sorceress, and cursed by the Witch of the Waste.

And some part of him was still hopeful at the thought of leaving it all behind.

===

He waited until late afternoon before he slipped out, downstairs to the house kitchen. There wasn’t much to scavenge from, but there was some less-stale bread and hard yellow cheese, and a search through the scrap pile of old merchandise yielded a cloak and a worn green cap. In the end, he decided to leave a small note tucked under the basket on Shiro’s table - the most believable thing he could come up with on short notice, that relatives of his father had come visiting suddenly, and offered him a trip to Kingsbury. He couldn’t leave anything for Hunk, but yesterday’s visit to the bakery had been his first in months - maybe he would just think Keith had retreated back into the workshop.

Leaving town was almost too easy. When the hay cart Keith had hitched a ride with dropped him off at the last farm in the valley, he turned to look down the slopes, where the town was still quite visible, hardly shrunken at all by the distance. It would have been half a day’s walk, if he had still had the stamina to manage it. A few minutes headed uphill confirmed that he didn’t.

“If I keep walking at this rate, I’ll never get anywhere,” Keith said to himself, rather irritated. Old people did that, right? “And when the hell did it get so cold?”

Evening was setting in, rather quickly for summer. He watched the sunset as he ate his meal, perched on a large, flattish rock on the side of the road. He wasn’t entirely sure of where he was going, yet - he had a vague thought that he might find the Witch of the Waste and somehow berate her into removing the curse, however that was to be accomplished. Even if she just blasted him with another spell, he’d be able to give her a piece of his mind first.

Then there was the sorceress. It was hard to reconcile the term ‘witch’ when comparing her to the haughty, withered old woman that had swept into the shop. She had been beautiful, for one thing - really, gut-wrenchingly beautiful, in the way that was bound to cause a stir in a small town like Market Chipping. Maybe he’d find her out here in the wastes instead of the Witch.

He took a look around, at the scrubby grass and bare rocks, and let out a snort of laughter.

When Keith was finished, he stood up and stretched, wincing at the tugging pain in his back and knees. When he could finally straighten up, he took another look around, then paused, squinting hard at a long branch stuck in a thicket nearby.

Well, he was a grandfather, in body if not spirit. A cane would be perfectly appropriate. 

He stumped over to the bushes, brushing his hand clean of crumbs before reaching out to give the branch a firm tug.

No movement.

Keith frowned, pulling on it again to the same result. “Come on,” he grumbled, bracing both of his hands on it for a final heave. “I might be an old man, but you are not - getting - the best - of me!” 

The branch finally wrenched loose, and Keith jerked back in shock as the momentum swung the end out of the bushes, all the way up until it was standing up straight in front of him.

He’d been mistaken - it wasn’t a branch at all. Instead a raggedy scarecrow grinned down at him, the ends of its long arms flapping in the wind. Someone had dressed him in a worn-out morning suit, black cloth faded to gray under the sun. A battered top hat with a blue ribbon was tilted rakishly over its head, a round white turnip with carved, cartoonish features.

“Just a scarecrow,” Keith said, a little bemused despite himself. Then he glanced down at its pole. “…How are you standing on your own like that?”

The scarecrow didn’t answer - just stood there above the ground, completely unsupported.

So, real magic did happen as seamlessly as it had acted upon him; without any fanfare or flashing. Well, at least this thing probably wasn’t out for his blood. Keith sighed, and scrubbed at his forehead. “Damn. Least you’re not upside down anymore, huh?” Shrugging, he turned away and headed back to the road, resisting the urge to look behind him.

He kept resisting all the way up to the next ridge, when he heard a tapping noise echoing off the road behind him. Sure enough, the scarecrow was following, hopping along behind him as if oblivious to its own strangeness.

“No!” Keith shouted over the wind, waving his arm. The scarecrow pressed onward. “I do not need any more magic in my life! Just let me go on my way - ”

With a final leap, the scarecrow thudded to a stop before him. Something long and spindly landed in the dirt at Keith’s feet.

It was a cane. A nice one too, made of black wood with a burnished silver topper.

“Oh,” Keith said, feeling a little silly. When he bent over to pick it up, it felt much heavier than he expected, but it handled nicely, and took his weight. “Well…thanks.” He looked back up at the scarecrow. “You mind finding me a place to sleep for the night while you’re at it?”

The scarecrow bobbed in place for a moment, then turned right back around, hopping down the way he came. Keith turned back to face the wind with another grumble. Enchanted or not, a scarecrow wasn’t going to be able to conjure up a bed on the spot. At least it wouldn’t be following him now.

The walking stick did help a little. He continued forging his way up the hill as the sky darkened, pausing only once when a battleship passed overhead, alerted by its metallic shrieking. Shelter or not, he’d have to stop for the night soon; it was getting abysmally cold, and he doubted he could walk much farther without any warmth.

The shrieking rose again, coming from high over the mountain’s ridge. Keith looked up, but the sky was empty in all directions. Where could it - 

Then a huge shadow crested the ridge, and Keith watched wide-eyed as it grew and grew, swelling into a huge, bulbous shape, many times the size of Market Chipping’s largest house. It _was_ a house, or parts of it were: he spotted chimneys fringed around the top, balconies and sloping ledges, the rounded roof of an observatory, all jumbled into one huge mess carried along by iron legs. The only reason he recognized it at all was from the rumors he had heard bandied around by the shop’s customers for years on end.

The scarecrow, naturally, was hopping alongside it.

“You - ” Keith looked at the scarecrow frantically as it hopped over to him. “You turniphead! I can’t stay there, that’s the Wizard’s Castle! I’ll have my heart ripped out!”

The castle plodded to a stop in front of them, its footsteps shaking the earth. Keith looked up at its underbelly, dull iron stained with soot. “…They call this a castle?”

Clouds of steam blasted from its chimneys, as if meant as an offended snort. Then it started moving again, and Keith clutched at his chest involuntarily as its huge bulk rumbled on overhead, two huge steps taking it beyond him and the scarecrow. The scarecrow, though, bounced along after it, and Keith suddenly saw that it was jumping next to a hanging portion, a small red door embedded in plaster and lit by a single lantern.

“Oh, hell," Keith cursed. He began to sprint after them, and slowed with a gasp of pain. _Damn_ that witch. “Argh - slow down, already! Do you want to let me in or not?”

The castle came to an abrupt stop, putting the doorstep right in Keith’s way, and he just managed to heave himself onto it when the castle lurched back into motion, nearly knocking him off his feet. Keith grabbed onto the doorknob, and turned to look at the scarecrow. "I’m gonna go ahead in,” he shouted back, over the wind. “You take care, Turniphead!”

The door was unlocked; it swung open with a rusty creak, and banged shut behind him. 

===

For a moment, all Keith could do was stand there, leaning back against the door and absorbing the warmth. There was the pleasant smell of a crackling fire, and when Keith opened his eyes he found himself in a sunken stairwell, ten steps leading upwards. After a day climbing a mountain, it should have felt easy, but each step came with a new, unpleasant ache. When Keith finally reached the top, he braced his hands on his knees, and looked around.

It was an ordinary room, for the most part. Filthy as hell, but in this case the mounds of junk covering everything were mostly books, and the trash swept into the corners glittered and sparked in the light. There was a huge, ashy hearth in the center of it all, with a single chair by its mouth.

Keith headed straight for it, a wave of tiredness urging him on, but paused as he noticed that the fire was getting low, just a simmering red pool inside the brazier. With a groan, he walked past the chair and lifted up a log from the stack on the floor, tossing it into the flames before collapsing into his seat.

It felt better than he could have imagined. Keith slumped into the chair, holding his hands out to the warmth and watching idly as the fire rose up to an orange flicker. It was hard to even feel scared about witches and wizards when you were finally warm and resting after so long in the cold. Let the Wizard tear his heart out, the way the townspeople had whispered about; it would be tough and gamey anyway.

“Well, that certainly is one nasty curse you have there. Don’t envy you a bit on that one.”

Keith started upright, blinking. He didn’t even look around - that voice had come from right in front of him, he knew it, but there was nothing but the fire there. It was back and blazing now; two dark sparks danced in its heart, twinkling, and at the bottom a gap in the flames yawned, just like - just like a _mouth_.

Keith opened his mouth, closed it, then leaned forwards cautiously. "Was - was that - "

“Let me guess,” the fire said, and Keith yelped as it continued, its burbling voice bright and cheerful, “It won’t allow you to talk about it, eh?”

“Are you the wizard?”

“No, no, no!” The fire surged upright, crackling fiercely. The face in it was clear now, and Keith had no idea how he had missed it before, inhuman though it clearly was. The eyes were much more apparent, and there was a funny curl of flame right above the mouth like the long, twirly mustaches currently in fashion. "I am Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, first class fire demon!” He belched fire in a pinkish wave, then settled down, sparks flying sheepishly. “Sorry if I singed you - I just like the effect.”

“A fire demon…” Keith leaned forward. “And you can see that I’m - I’m - ” His mouth moved, but no words came out, and Keith shook his head in frustration. “You can see it? Can you break it?”

A fresh gout of flame went through Coran, blue-tinged, and he seemed to bob forward, two fiery hands gripping at his log. “Well…it just so happens that I happen to be under a spell myself, at the moment. Very unpleasant in its own way. If someone - a gentleman like yourself, for example - were to break it, then I’d have all the power I’d need to break a curse of such a caliber.”

Keith opened his mouth to accept, but then paused, pulling back a little. This was starting to feel like the moment in a fairy tale where the heroine made an unwise bargain and had to suffer the consequences. “Would you make a promise on your name to help me, once I’d helped you?”

“Well…” the fire demon said, drawing the word out as he spoke. “I _am_ a demon. Strictly speaking, we aren’t supposed to make promises.”

“If that’s the way it’s gonna be…” Keith made a show of sitting back in the chair, letting out a not-insincere sigh of relief as his joints popped. He propped his hands up on the cane, getting comfortable. What was it Shiro used to say about bargaining with a customer - you always had to show them the wrong choice first? “Then I guess you’re going to have to wait and find someone else to help you.”

“Oh - !” Coran fluttered in obvious frustration, throwing off another spray of sparks that bounced off the hearth’s brick walls. “Well - alright, then! You have my word. But if you don’t come through on your end of the bargain there’s not a thing I can do to help otherwise.” 

A gust of breath escaped on Keith’s exhale, the last of his willpower to deal with all this madness and its complicated rules. “It’s a deal, then,” he muttered, loosening his grip on the cane. What was a deal with the devil, after a day full of curses and magic? It was hardly as if he had much life left to loose at the ripe age of seventy. He never even made a conscious decision to close his eyes; the world simply slid away into blackness without further notice, Coran's orange glow fading into dimness.

In his dream he was flying again. The ground dropped out from under his feet with a rush, the rooftops of the town shrinking to pavement-sized beneath: tiled in bright reds and browns, with no darkness coursing through the alleyways.

A pair of warm hands clasped his own, lifting them above his head the way one dance partner leads another. “Now, just straighten your legs, and start walking,” the sorceress’s voice came, words rounded by her accent. Keith glanced up at her as they drifted over the colorful crowd of the festival, half-blinded by the reflection of the sun off her silver hair, and they touched down lightly on the peak of a rooftop before the push sent them floating upwards again. “See? You’re a natural.”

He preened, straightening up with the easy praise, and the wind moved under their feet as they rose higher and higher. Though they could still hear the music and the laughter emanating upwards, the bustling streets below them seemed very far away.

He didn’t remember the descent to Cesari’s - had just started to recall the wafting smell of vanilla and sugar icing in the distance - when the sound of knocking at the door snapped him into wakefulness: entirely grounded, the smell of ashes in the air, body heavy with age he had never gained.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is marked as a one shot because a. the Hell Part of finals is coming up, and b. I'm pretty shit at multi-chapter works. Maybe I'll come back to it, though. Maybe.


End file.
